Requiem
by Juliana Brandagamba
Summary: Vienna, 1791. The Doctor and new companion Juliana arrive just in time to discover a sinister plot - not against the city, but against one man. His name is Mozart, and he's quite famous. But being that well-known could come at a very high price. Set somewhere in the 11th Doctor's era, probably between later adventures with Amy and Rory. I'll decide later how Juliana met the Doctor.
1. Prologue

It was too cold for November. The chill was in the air, the dry, freezing air; it did not seem to reach the windows, did not frost them over, but merely hung in the centre of the room: a cloud of coldness that could not be dispelled even by the fire. Wolfgang sighed, looking up from his work; he reached over and stoked the fire, trying to expose the unburnt bits of wood. It worked to an extent, but nothing could remove the chill that he felt inside of him.

Was it just him that was cold?

He shuddered at the thought that had crossed his mind more than once in the last week. There was something wrong – not with the air, not with the weather, but with him.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he wrapped his waistcoat tighter round himself and buttoned it at the front, noticing how thin he had become lately. It was back – the depression was back, the miserable affliction that had kept him in its grip for so much of the last year. He had thought himself recovered, but evidently he was wrong. Something was gnawing at his bones, and he didn't like it.

Still, he had to be grateful that it wasn't gnawing at his imagination. From his pen flowed new, exciting innovations – from his pen flowed music the likes of which had never been heard before. Even when he felt the rest of life would drive him mad, music kept him sane. He had to be grateful for that.

That's what Constanze said, at any rate. Dear Constanze – always trying to keep his spirits up. She was worried about him, he knew that. Of course she would be. Perhaps he shouldn't have told her about his most recent commission.

He scrutinised the letter again, trying to work out whose hand had formed the overly neat italic hand. It looked forced, or done with extreme care. Then he rubbed his forehead and sighed, knowing that divining the hand would tell him nothing: it had probably been written by a scribe or proxy or someone other than the one who had decided on the words.

A Requiem. Someone wanted a Requiem Mass written for them – well, for a recently deceased wife. There was something wrong with the story. He should have been able to see through it. But his mind felt as if it was stuffed full of wool. All he could do was begin writing and hope that it was just an innocent request.

He put pen to paper, scoring the first part, imagining soaring voices and mournful strings grieving the passing of the poor woman. It would be a grand work, even if he did say so himself. He just wished he knew whether it was a genuine commission, or if someone –

He had had disturbing thoughts about this commission lately. He hadn't told Constanze, but he had begun to have nightmares. Nightmares in which he was dead and this Requiem was being played – his own Requiem Mass. He had written his own requiem. Usually he shuddered the nightmares off – tried to forget them. But every time he sat down to write the piece, the dreams came back to him. The dark, haunting tune wouldn't escape his head; the images of his own grave were clear before his eyes.

His eyes would drift then, coming to rest on the name to which the letter was addressed. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. A name well-known; he couldn't blame them for commissioning him out of all the musicians in Vienna. All the people with class and status wanted him to compose things for them. But was this one of them?

He shook his head very definitely, at once replying to the question and clearing his thoughts. He needed to be in a good state of mind for this piece. If it was a real commission, it needed to be good.

He dipped his quill in the ink and began once again to write.


	2. In Mozart Country

'Doctor, where are we?' asked the young woman who looked entirely out of place, jogging slightly to keep up with her companion, a man who also appeared strange in this place. They were attracting more than a bit of attention, but they ignored them with the air of having done a similar thing before.

The man just smiled enigmatically.

The young woman looked around her, her eyes wide with excitement, her forehead creasing somewhat as she tried to guess her location. 'Doctor, is this the Georgian era?'

'It would be in Britain,' he replied, striding on ahead, dodging at the last minute to avoid a horse and cart that rattled across the cobblestones.

'Where are we then?'

In the pause that he gave her, leaving her to find out for herself, she span around, searching for clues, divining nothing from the language for it sounded like perfect English to her ears. The street was vibrant: people, horses, coats, stalls, houses – many houses, all of them tall and elegant. People wearing fancy clothes peered out of carriage windows, many of whom had ridiculously tall hairstyles.

That was when she caught sight of a poster.

_The Magic Flute_

_The fine new opera composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart_

_Performed at the Theater auf der Wieden_

_Conducted by the composer_

Suddenly the woman gasped in surprise and delight. 'Doctor, look!'

He was already looking. Now he beamed at his companion. 'Guessed where we are yet?'

'Salzburg?' she cried.

'Not quite. Vienna. But yes: this is Mozart country.'

She was by now nearly jumping up and down with excitement. 'Mozart! We could see him perform live! We could actually meet him!'

'You like Mozart then?' the Doctor asked with a sideways grin.

'_Like_ Mozart? He's the greatest composer who ever lived! Doctor, do let's go to the opera. It's his most famous.'

'Yes.' The Doctor stepped backwards from the poster, his face revealing nothing but his eyes twinkling. 'Juliana, I think you'll find that I think much faster than you do.'

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

'Wolfgang's an old acquaintance of mine,' the Doctor told her. 'It shouldn't be too difficult to introduce you. And as for the opera... does this evening sound good?'

Juliana Brandybuck's face suddenly shone with the utmost joy and astonishment. 'Doctor... but Doctor, that's incredible! This evening!'

And the Doctor smiled back, but this time he smiled at Juliana's elation without sharing in it. Perhaps she didn't realise yet that _The Magic Flute_ wasn't the only reason he had brought her here. Perhaps it was better she didn't know yet. No, she could enjoy this evening, she could meet her musical idol, and then he would tell her the date. And after that, if she wasn't already too horrified, he would tell her the real reason that they were in Vienna in November 1791, just over a month before the great man's death.


	3. The Man Himself

The great man was at that moment sitting in his chair by the fire, his legs stretched out, giving every impression of a man at ease, though that was far from the truth. He wanted to relax – he wanted more than ever to relax, because one could not conduct an opera without being clear-headed – but as that was nigh on impossible, he would have to do his best to appear that way.

Behind him lay his writing-desk, the quill still standing in the inkwell (he had got into the bad habit of not cleaning his nibs), the barely-started Requiem Mass sitting ominously in the centre of the table. Every so often he would glance at it. He had a few ideas, but he didn't have the motivation to put them on paper.

Just as he was beginning to slip into a light sleep, he heard the doorbell ring. The bell jangled merrily, its tinkling sound making its way up to his room, and he sat up reluctantly, wondering if it was another of his fans. People were always calling on him these days – they had done in the past, of course, all the way through his illustrious career, but now he hated having to greet them, having to seem happy and cheerful when he wasn't.

Just then the doorman came up to his room and knocked politely on the door. Mozart greeted him half-heartedly and inquired as to the visitors.

'A man calling himself the Doctor for you, sir,' the servant replied. 'And a young woman calling herself Juliana Brandybuck.'

Mozart did not recognise the second name but at the first he cheered visibly. A friend and not a fanatic was a welcome relief in these dark times. 'Send them up.'

The servant went away with a bow. A minute later there was a clattering on the stairs, and the door swung open once again to reveal a tall man with insane hair and a pretty girl with a rather excited expression. When the girl's eyes met the composer's, she gave a gasp but quickly stifled it, allowing the man to make the introductions.

'Wolfy!' the Doctor cried in delight, bounding over, kissing Mozart on both cheeks.

'How many times, Doctor –'

'Sorry.' The Doctor grinned. 'Wolfgang. Good to see you!'

'And you, Doctor.' Mozart nodded to a point behind the Doctor. 'And your lady friend? Who's she?'

The Doctor spread his hand, almost hitting Juliana in the face as she had just come up behind him. 'This is Juliana Brandybuck. A friend of mine. Juliana, I probably don't need to introduce Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.'

She shook hands with the maestro, looking overawed, her eyes glowing. 'Might I just say that I absolutely love your music,' she said, stuttering slightly.

'Oh, God, no,' Mozart said, mock-grimacing. 'Not a fanatic.'

'Sorry,' Juliana apologised, blushing.

'No, it's fine,' Mozart assured her. 'Doctor – I haven't seen you in, what, five years?'

'Has it really been that long?' The Doctor was joking, of course – from his point of view it had been more like fifty. 'How's the wife?'

'Constanze? Oh, she's fine. Away today visiting friends in the city.' Mozart paused, looking the Doctor up and down. 'Well, you're keeping well. What brings you to Vienna?'

The Doctor grinned. 'I thought I'd drop by, see how my old friend was keeping – and anyway, fangirl here is very excited about the opera this evening.'

'_The Magic Flute_?' asked Mozart. 'Yes... It promises to be a good performance. The singers, the orchestra – really, they don't need me there. But...'

'But you _have_ to be there,' said Juliana, a little confused. 'Why wouldn't you be? You're conducting.'

'I'm... just feeling a little out of sorts,' Mozart admitted, stifling a yawn. 'But no – you're right. If you're going, I'll be there. Just for you, Juliana.'

She could not hide the grin that spread over her face.

'But I shouldn't be sitting here whilst you stand,' Mozart said, standing from his chair. 'I'll see if there are drinks going... take a seat, take a seat!'

He went to the door and called a servant, asking for things to eat and drink. Whilst he was occupied, the Doctor pulled up two chairs to the fire, and Juliana looked around the room.

Suddenly her eyes alighted on the sheet of music that was on the table. Her eyes widened; she could not hold back her gasp this time. 'Doctor!'

He span round. 'What?'

'Mozart's Requiem!' she said in a half-whisper. 'His Requiem Mass! Doctor... Doctor, it's 1791! Isn't it? Why didn't you tell me it was 1791? But that means...'

And she fell silent as Mozart came back into the room; but out of his line of sight she cast a horrified glance at the Doctor, stunned by this realisation, shocked that her musical hero was at this stage of life, that he didn't have long left at all.


	4. Investigations

After a pleasant hour or so spent chatting away with Mozart, and satisfying one of his greatest fans, they left the composer to prepare for the evening's concert. The Doctor had not once driven the conversation round to the date, Mozart's health, or even what he was really doing in Vienna; and despite her curiosities, Juliana did not breach any of these topics either, though she was left extremely annoyed that she hadn't.

They returned to the TARDIS then to find period costume suitable firstly for wandering round in Vienna, and then attending an opera. Juliana was overjoyed to find a huge array of clothes from that era, and spent a good long while picking out a dress for the day and a dress for the evening, and dipping into a selection of jewels and other accessories; she emerged from the extensive wardrobe wearing an enormous dress with a wide skirt, and with her hair bundled upwards to make it as big as possible (the TARDIS wardrobe didn't extend to wigs). It wasn't the most comfortable thing she had ever worn, but at least she felt as if she might belong.

When she came into the main control room the Doctor was nowhere to be seen. Juliana sighed in exasperation and ran back to the wardrobe, calling his name, only to find that he wasn't there either and having to run back to the control room. That was when she noticed a small handwritten note stuck to the monitor.

_Gone investigating. Back in a bit. You were taking too long getting dressed – sorry! I had things to do. See you back at the TARDIS._

She groaned at this, both annoyed that he had left her and slightly insulted that he hadn't told her where he was going. Now he would expect her to sit in the TARDIS like a good girl and wait for him to return.

Wait, ha! As if. Juliana added her own note to the Doctor's and stepped out once again into vibrant Vienna.

* * *

><p>The Doctor hadn't had a very successful time investigating, which was not especially visible from his quick pace and springing steps. He half-ran back to the TARDIS and entered, only to find the place empty and Juliana's deeply irritating note on the monitor.<p>

_Have also gone investigating. Back in a bit. You were taking too long investigating – sorry! See you back at the TARDIS._

Though he could hear Juliana's bright, joking tone in the letter, he groaned as she had done. 'Why does everyone always run off?' he found himself saying aloud. 'It might be dangerous,' and with that he left the TARDIS to look for her.

* * *

><p>Juliana was having great difficulty manoeuvring down the streets. She wondered if the enormous hooped skirt might have been a mistake. Every time a cart rattled over the cobblestones she found herself almost squished into the buildings, and people were taking rather wide steps to avoid colliding with her attire. It wasn't just her – this was a problem for all of the ladies – but she felt somewhat embarrassed as yet another gentleman sidestepped her and apologised as his knee bumped the skirt, causing it to flap around on the muddy floor. It would surely be ruined by the end of the day.<p>

That was when she felt an arm slip itself into hers. She tried to turn to see who it was, but got no more than a glimpse of possibly a man – this figure wrenched her arm as he dodged out of her sight, before dragging her off the street and down a side-alley – one of those dark and grimy ones between two closely-built buildings. She cried out but her voice sounded strangled; the figure – was it a man? A woman? Neither? – held up something to her face and her vision went black.

* * *

><p>The Doctor sped down the street, at points stopping people and asking if they'd seen a girl, but he couldn't really say what she looked like, as she could have made herself unrecognisable in the TARDIS wardrobe and he would never know; he could only say that she was young-ish, small-ish and had remarkably green eyes.<p>

Nobody, of course, could remember anybody of that description. The Doctor groaned in deep annoyance, slipping between people, skidding on the damp cobblestones, looking up and down the street, wondering where she could have thought of going to. He couldn't guess. It was 18th-century Vienna – it was the very height of her favourite era in history – she could have gone anywhere.

'Juliana!' he yelled at last, his voice making many turn but gaining no response. 'Juliana!' he yelled again; and when nobody replied to this second cry, he got out his sonic screwdriver and raised it to eye-level, trying unsuccessfully to hide it in the palm of his hand; and he pressed the button, wincing slightly as it emitted a high-pitched noise that only he could hear, and then, when he had learnt all he could from the signal his face fell dramatically, and despite himself he muttered, 'I _wish_ they wouldn't run off!'


	5. Cut-Throat Alley

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart went back to his Requiem Mass with his head filled with thoughts completely inapt for the serious, mournful work. He had found his conversation with the Doctor somewhat cheering: the Doctor was annoying, it was true, and far too chirpy for his own good, but that could only help him in these dark times. And Juliana – she may have been a fan but she wasn't an overly talkative one – always a good thing. He reminded her somehow of his earlier works: smiling, optimistic, bubbly without bubbling over. At that moment for the first time in a long while he felt as if he could write a piece like that again. Perhaps he would. But that wasn't the task at hand.

He picked up his pen from the inkwell – and cursed himself for leaving it in there – and then spent quite a while writing, letting his hand rather than his mind do the composing. He was used to that now. His hand had scored so many works that it seemed to have a mind of its own; he did not stop it.

After a bit his hand started to feel cramped, and his legs were complaining, so he stood, looking out of the window without really seeing anything before taking a closer look at the street below. It was still busy as ever: the circular skirts of ladies filled a large part of the view, whilst coaches rattled between the people and sometimes forced them right to one side. Amongst the crowds was a young lady on her own, in a dress that didn't really suit her; she was looking up at the buildings with wide, excited eyes – Juliana.

Mozart could not help but chuckle at her expression of rapture, but at the same time he felt a helpless longing to be that happy, to be able to see Vienna with such fascination and joy. His chuckle lost its humour and he sighed a long sigh.

That was when he noticed the man. Or at least, he thought it was a man – a figure then, dressed entirely in black, a dark cape swirling around his shoulders, the hood drawn low over his face. From up here he looked like a shadow, especially in the way he seemed to flit down the street, to avoid everyone's attention, to stay at the edges of the pavement.

And then he grabbed hold of Juliana's arm. Mozart wasn't quite sure how he had got so close to the girl without anyone noticing – but he had, he had his arm in hers, he was pulling her away from the bustle of the street towards a little snickelway – a particularly dark and damp one known affectionately as "Cut-throat Alley". Mozart leaned out and yelled her name – '_Juliana_!' – but it was too late, she was out of sight and probably out of earshot.

He didn't think about anything else but what he had just seen. Ignoring his complaining muscles, his growing headache, the composition that was forming in his mind, he tossed down his pen and ran to see what had happened and whether he would be too late to prevent any danger coming to the Doctor's pretty young companion.

The people on the street below could hardly believe that it was Mozart who had just come running from the house, his face passionate, his wig awry. Had he not been ill for a good long while now? He attracted more than a few stares, but ignored them all; at last, breathless, he came to Cut-Throat Alley and stared down it.

It was empty.

There was nobody there. Not a trace. Not a single sign that anyone had been kidnapped and dragged down this Godforsaken passage. He steeled himself; he slipped down it, squeezing between the houses, his feet squelching in some unmentionable slime. Making sure that nobody was following him he continued, stumbling a little on the grime and in the half-darkness that betrayed the very fact that it was daytime, and at length came out on the street beyond.

A few people looked a little surprised at seeing the great composer emerge from one of the worst-renowned back-alleys in the neighbourhood, but none commented on it. Mozart brushed himself down – he seemed to have attracted some of the dirt without actually touching it – and looked up and down the street with slightly wild eyes. Had Juliana escaped unscathed, and her kidnapper run off? Somehow he doubted it.

Therefore he raced down the street, round, and up the more reputable route to his own street. And there at the mouth of the passage he saw the Doctor, who was staring down it with the same worry he had felt, except that the Doctor probably knew what was going on. He usually did.

'Doctor!' cried Mozart.

'Wolfgang,' the Doctor said vaguely, not in his usual manner. 'I'd stay out of this.'

'But what is it? What's going on? What's happened to Juliana?'

At the mention of Juliana the Doctor seemed to start slightly. 'What?'

'Juliana. She was kidnapped... a man in a black cape... Taken down this alley. Both have disappeared.'

'This exact alleyway?' The Doctor held up his hand, in which he carried his sonic screwdriver – Mozart had no idea what this slim metallic item was, but he trusted that it was relevant. 'That's curious, because... We haven't got time to lose. Wolfgang – you stay here. You shouldn't be here. You're safer inside. And I'll...' And with that he gambolled off with the gait of a rather worried hare.

_Safer inside?_ Mozart considered these words for only a split second, before the thought returned to him that had so often plagued him lately. _What does safety matter to me? I'm dying – God help me, I'm dying. My life doesn't matter anymore. I should be helping others' whilst I can._

And with that cheerful thought he ran off after the Doctor.


End file.
